


Kissing Coach

by redreaper86



Category: Little Miss Sunshine, The Gentlemen (2019)
Genre: Canon Mute Character, Coach has had it with them, Crossover Pairings, Dwayne is depressed, Dwayne still doesn't talk, First Kiss, First Meetings, Friendly Kidnapping, Love at First Sight, M/M, Making Out, The Toddlers are idiots, until he meets Coach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29150061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redreaper86/pseuds/redreaper86
Summary: The Hoovers are in London for another one of Olive’s talent competitions when Dwayne gets kidnapped by a rowdy band of kung fu knighting juvenile criminals. They mistakenly think he is the runaway scion of one of the rich ‘toffs’ that pay them for protection, so they bring him back to their boss, Coach. They do not expect their mute little captive and their loquacious mentor hit it off at first sight.
Relationships: Coach (The Gentlemen)/Dwayne Hoover
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Kissing Coach

_Of course this would happen to me_ , Dwayne thought as, thoroughly annoyed, he sat amongst at least a couple dozen idiot criminals who had to be at the most, eighteen (Dwayne’s age), if not even younger, in the back of a huge van with no windows. 

Really, he was actually mildly amused that he was more grumpy than frightened at the very real situation he was in at the moment. He had been kidnapped, right in front of his stupid family while they were all on this idiotic trip to London for yet another one of Olive’s talent shows. 

It had been two years since Olive’s first disastrous beauty competition, the trip where Dwayne learned the soul-crushing news that he was colour-blind and so would never be able to fulfill his dream of flying fighter jets. Ever since then, Dwayne had tried to find something else to be interested in, he really had tried his best but --

He just couldn’t find anything he loved as much as his dream of flying jets. And every time something didn’t pan out he just got more and more depressed. 

Meanwhile, his family was no help whatsoever. Their half-hearted: “well, something will come up,” and: “there’s no rush, you can stay here at home as long as you want while you figure things out,” did _not_ make him feel any better. If anything they made him feel even worse, like they didn’t even care about his dream to go to flight school, or that it was now shattered.

Probably because they _didn’t_ care. They didn’t want to pay for his flight school in the first place, and when the news broke that he would never be accepted because of minor vision problem, he could practically hear the collective sighs of relief from his mother and stepfather. He’d thought everything would get better when he turned into a eighteen and graduated but what a load of crap that turned out to be…

Dwayne sneered at his younger self’s woeful naiveté. He should’ve known…just look at his fucking _family_ for crying out loud -- that things only got worse as one got older. The only member of the Hoover clan who seemed immune to that curse was his little sister, Olive.

_Well, the more power to her_ , Dwayne thought as the van rumbled along, jostling him against his captors, his bare, goosebump covered arms bumping continuously into plushy colourful parkas. He should’ve wore the coat his mother got him, but he hadn’t, just to make a scene, get a rise out of her. A half-hearted shrug and a “it’s up to you, honey,” had not been the reaction he’d been hoping for. 

No one in the family made a fuss over him anymore. Even Greg had ceased showing any annoyance at Dwayne’s antics. It was more a serene resignation that all of them had adopted around him now, and it set Dwayne’s teeth on edge. No one even cared enough about him even to _try_ to drive him crazy.

“Oi,” one of the criminals said for probably the fiftieth time in a row, shoving his phone with that same idiotic homemade music video at Dwayne’s face. “I asked you what you think of it. You deaf or something, mate?” He pronounced his _th’s_ like _f’s_ , and he leaned his face so close to Dwayne’s that he splattered spit on him.

With a much put-upon sigh, Dwayne reached into his back pocket and pulled out his battered old notebook, flipped it to a clear page and pulled his pen out of the metal spiral that held the worn pages together.

“’E’s writin’ somefing…” All the juveniles leaned forward, fascination etched on every one of their faces.

Fascination, that is, until Dwayne turned the notebook to face them. Then their enthrallment turned to fury. Because --

The words: **NO BUT I WISH I WAS BECAUSE THAT IS THE STUPIDEST SONG I EVER HEARD** stared back at them.

Needless to say, the Toddlers, for that was what these morons called themselves, did not take the criticism well.

~

“The boys are home, I’ll call ye back, Ray,” Coach said to Raymond over the phone. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for any missing mini-toffs.” 

He rang off, shaking his head. _Ah, Raymond_. Would he ever cease being sent off by his boss to retrieve the rich disaffected spawn of the idiotic English peerage? And now he was calling Coach, trying to get _him_ in on the job, searching for yet another rich lad who’d run away from yet another mouldering ancestral home? 

_The boss would pay you a lot of money, mate_ , Raymond had said. And in Ray-speak a lot of money was a stratospheric amount of money. Enough to help Coach retire in comfort. But he didn’t want it, any of it. The only reason he’d helped Ray and the rest take down Fletcher, a sleazy reporter who’d taken pictures of Ray’s less than upstanding lifestyle and had been blackmailing Ray’s boss, Micky, with them, was to save his boys. The wee fools had stolen an entire marijuana farm from Micky, taken down the goons guarding it, videoed themselves doing all of it -- and -- for the cherry on top -- made a fight-porn music video out of it, which they then posted on the internet. 

_Bleeding hell_ , Coach thought, shaking his head at the memory. It was a good thing his boys all had interesting personalities because their brains were -- ahem, how to put this kindly -- nonexistent. He just hoped Ray’s search for the missing mini-toff hadn’t put any more foolish ideas into his boys’ heads.

And now he could hear the boys’ old clunker of a van pulling into the warehouse, and he could only hope and pray that it was not another incident like the marijuana farm heist fiasco that had drawn him too deep into the world of hardcore criminality than was his wont. He headed down the metal stairs from his office that led to the main garage of the warehouse.

“You fookin’ rude little tosser!” he heard a somewhat muffled voice yell from inside the van. “We’ll teach you some taste in music --” The sentence was punctuated with the meaty sound of a punch.

_Oh, for fuck’s sake_ , Coach thought, rolling his eyes even as he hastened his steps to the van as more muffled sounds of brawling emanated from it. _What have they all done now_?

“Oi!” he yelled, hammering on the back doors with his fist. “If you lot know what’s good for you, you’ll come out of there right now and explain what in the ever-loving _fuck_ is goin’ on inside that van!”

The back doors to the van slammed open violently and a slender figure inside tore himself loose from the group inside and in so doing tumbled right out of the back of the van and --

Dropped right into Coach’s arms as he caught the lad in a bridal carry. Coach stared in amazement at his new -- utterly adorable -- burden. This pretty thing was certainly not one of the young toughs Coach took off the streets and trained to fight. The boy was slim and pale, with hair so black it almost certainly was dyed. He was also far too under-dressed for the weather, clad only in a yellow t-shirt and black cargo pants and white trainers. Or, sneakers, as the Yanks called them. 

Coach’s heart twisted as he saw the poor thing was shaking, with terror as much as the cold, clutching a crumpled notebook to his chest. His trembling lip was split and bleeding and he had the beginnings of a black eye.

“Who in the bloody hell is responsible for this?” Coach growled, turning a baleful gaze at the individuals all crowding the inside of the van, looking thoroughly ashamed of themselves -- as well they might. “Eh? I thought I taught you boys better’n this? I’m fucking _ashamed_ of you lot right now.”

The young criminals hung their heads in shame. “We thought ’e was the toff’s missing sprog,” one offered as though that was an excuse for kidnapping and beating someone.

“Right, put yer cell phones in the drawer in my desk,” Coach said, jerking his chin at his office, as his arms were full carrying this lad, who, very cutely, had made no struggle to escape at all, in fact, was seeming quite content to be carried in this manner. “No cell phones for a week.”

“Aww, but, Coach --”

“Make that two weeks!”

“Yes, sir!” 

Coach watched his boys file up the stairs, cell phones in hand, to put them in the metal drawer for two weeks. He knew they wouldn’t dare disobey. They respected him too much. He turned his gaze back to his pretty captive, who was resting comfortably in his arms. Reluctantly, he set him down and the boy, seemingly just as reluctantly, let go of him.

“Ye got a name, lad?”

~

Still missing the warmth of the mysterious Coach, Dwayne hurriedly flipped though the used pages of his notebook until he found his ‘introduction page’ and showed his name written in big bold letters.

“‘Dwayne…’” Coach murmured. Dwayne never thought hearing his own name spoken in a deep voice flavoured with that musical accent could make him blush, but it did. “You can’t speak?”

Dwayne shrugged, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. It felt dumb now, and childish, this choosing-not-to-speak thing. Thick fingertips took hold of his chin and tilted his face up. It was an oddly enduring gesture because Dwayne was sure he had to be at least an inch or two taller than Coach.

“You don’t speak, do ya?” Coach said, sliding his fingers around Dwayne’s jaw, and slipping up behind his ears. Dwayne felt his stomach flood with a swarm of frenzied butterflies. “Why don’t you speak, Dwayne?”

Dwayne started to shrug again but Coach’s other hand held the offending shoulder down. Liquid heat pooled in Dwayne’s belly, dousing the nervous butterflies with scorching hot desire.

“Has anyone ever asked you…why?” Coach asked gently. 

Dwayne shook his head. Nobody really ever asked him why -- not really. Coach moved his face a little closer to Dwayne’s.

“Doesn’t anybody care?”

Dwayne sniffed, blinked fast as his eyes blurred with tears. “Mm-mm…” he squeaked, then gasped. He was forgetting himself, forgetting his vow of silence. He gave a half-hearted little squirm in an effort to escape but Coach’s big hands caught him around the waist, causing Dwayne to squeak a little as the warmth from the other man’s palms emanated through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“Where do you think you’re going, then, lad?” Coach teased, as Dwayne wriggled again in the older man’s grasp just for the pleasure of having his waist gripped tighter by those big hands. “Eh?” 

The older man nuzzled Dwayne just under his ear. Dwayne squeaked, made another feeble attempt at escape which resulted in yet another playful capture, this time causing his shirt to ride up. Dwayne shivered as Coach’s calloused palms slid against the sensitive skin of his bare sides. He dipped his head and scooped up Coach’s mouth with his own. He felt the older man flinch, then gasp against his mouth. Coach pulled away, breaking their kiss noisily and Dwayne whimpered with the loss of him.

“How old are you, Dwayne?”

Dwayne held up eight fingers then all ten of them.

“Eighteen, thank fuck --” Coach’s mouth slammed back onto Dwayne’s. Dwayne twined his arms around Coach’s neck, broke the kiss to turn his head the other way and continued kissing Coach.

This kissing, it felt like it went on forever, and as he melted into Coach, Dwayne made up his mind about a few things.

First, he was going to stay with Coach. 

Second, he was going to marry Coach. 

Third, he was going to have Coach’s babies. 

_Well_ …

Dwayne smirked against Coach’s mouth.

_Two out of three ain’t bad_.


End file.
